Breaking Twilight
by Pop Ferret
Summary: An Alternate Universe in which all seven Dragoons die in the Dragon Campaign, therefore Dart never comes about. Story takes place seventy five years after the fall of the Dragoons. Surprise Good guy!!!
1. Sins of Shadows

Disclaimer: Author claims no ownership of the following items: Endiness, Winglies, Original Dragoons, Dragon Campaign and all other Legend of Dragoon trademarked pieces of the story you are about to read. This said, make no attempt to sue, or said author may find herself inclined to retaliate with a lawsuit of her own.  
  
Author's Note: After viewing numerous fictions involving orignal characters, the Ferret has decided to make an attempt at one such story of her own. Ferret would like to point out that Breaking Twilight, the fiction you are about to read, is set in an A.U, or Alternate Universe, in which the Dragon Campaign ended with the tragic deaths of all seven Dragoons, meaning that Dart Feld never came into being, nor did the Black Monster. Melbu Frahma remained undefeated, extending his iron clad rule of terror. But little did he know that Soa, angered by this Wingly's attempts at becoming God, was working against him, striving to bring together seven of the most unlikely heroes to make one last valiant stand against the Wingly oppressor and strike for the freedom of the world.  
  
Lloyd: I find this greatly disturbing.  
  
Ferret: ~glaring darkly at the screen before her~ You find everything I write disturbing. What else is new.  
  
Dart: I'm not in this?  
  
Ferret: For the fifteenth million bloody time, NO! Zieg and Rose died, so you could never be Zieg's son in this. Go away.  
  
Zamora: Can I ask why you decided to drag me into this? I die don't I? I die in everything you put me in. I bet we all die.  
  
Ferret: ~twitches~ If you will all excuse me, I'm attempting to write a serious, dramatic, epic fiction here, and YOU ARE ALL BEING DISTRACTING!  
  
All: ~cower in fear of th awesome wrath of the Ferret.  
  
Ferret: ~looks at the reader and sighs~ Bear with me, I implore you, this is bound to be rocky at the start. I don't write much serious fiction anymore, but these ideas keep flitting through my mind, refusing to go away. That said, I give you Chapter One,  
  
Chapter One: Sins of Shadows  
  
Vellweb, place of my unrest, place to which I was bound in death even as I had been bound in life, only I was little more than a simple shade. Vellweb was little like the beautiful city I remembered, blood stained the streets, and they had long since ceased to bury their dead properly, instead only holding makeshift ceremonies in which the bodies were cast into flame. The stench of burning flesh hovered over the city like a dark cloud. Humans had wrested control from the Winglies some years before, and constant battles had shattered the etheral beauty that had been my home for so long. The towers my comrades and I had dwelt in were used as a sort of command center, the hub of all activity for the resistance. How many years had passed since that final battle when the seven of us had fallen? How many lives had been destroyed, how many children ripped from the arms of sobbing mothers, traumatized by the sight of their father's being ruthlessly slaughtered before them? From bits of conversations overheard as I drifted through the halls I learned that there were few havens left for humans to turn to, and of these, Vellweb was the most saught after. They were struggling for survival, and losing the valianly fought battle. I think sometimes, that some of them must have glimpsed me as I wandered, awestruck by the world I found myself in, for I often heard whispered rumors of the "shadowed lady" in the halls. They seemed unafraid of the thought of a shade walking amongst them, and it seemed as if some might have welcomed it, encouraged perhaps, for their efforts in defending the city were doubled after I was first glimpsed.  
  
I found myself wondering why I had been pulled back to this place, this bloody nightmare. While I had not been allowed to move from this world, to continue on my journey, I had drifted in a strange sort of oblivious sleep. The first stirrings of the calling had opened my eyes to the light for the first time in a very long time. At first I had raced through the towers, and then through the city itself, searching for my friends, my comrades, my love, thinking that surely, if I had been called back, so had they. I was to be disappointed, and disheartened, for of their return there was no sign. My heart sinking low, my spirit even lower I confined myself to the room that had once been my own, strangely unchanged through the years, as if someone had kept it safe, waiting for my return. I was aware, always, of a constant pull in some unknown direction, of strange whispers in the shadows. Fearing the worst from these, that it meant I was being called into Mayfil, or some other dreadful place, I ignored them, waiting, hoping that what had been lost to me would again return.  
  
"Hiding in the shadows again Rose?" the voice was soft, but even in that softness it was one I would have recognized, and flown to no matter what the danger. It brought me forth from my darkened thoughts, and pulled my gaze towards the door. I dared not believe even what was there before my very eyes. Could it be? Had..it was! It was my beloved, returned to me even in death!  
  
I was on my feet in an instant, and hurling myself into his waiting arms, which closed about my lithe form in a most comforting manner, "Zieg!" I cried, for all other words escaped me. The armor I had become so accustomed to him wearing was gone, replaced instead by a crimson tunic, belted at the waist, and white breeches, with tall leather boots. I buried my face against his chest and simply...cried. Such was my joy at having him with me again, "Oh Zieg, I feared I would never see you again. I feared that death, in its cruelty had seperated us forever," I could have spent an eternity just like that, wrapped forever in his protective arms.  
  
"Nothing could seperate us forever Rose, not even death," I felt on of his hands stroke along the back of my head, and down my neck as he lowered his head against mine, "I feared the worst, when we could not find you. I had hoped against all hope that somehow, somehow you had escaped, that you would endure where we had not, that you, of all of us, would find a way to stand against Melbu Frahma, to strike him down where we had failed."  
  
Such pain there was in his voice, my heart ached for him, for all that he had suffered at my account. For once, my voice was soft, carrying none of the strength and hautiness it once held, "After I tried to save you, after you fell to Melbu Frahma, I tried to flee, thinking that I could put together another force, and make the strike again, but he saw me. I was weakened from the battle," dear God, the pain was still so fresh, in retelling the tale, I could feel the throbbing pain that had raced through my body only moments before the blankess had claimed me, "I never stood a chance Zieg. He struck me down even as I turned to face him."  
  
He remained silent then, his arms tightening protectively about me, "Nothing will ever come between us again Rose, you have my word. But come! I have been away too long, and the others will be wondering what has kept me. Shirley has something she wishes to say, and she wishes to say it to all of us, and we were shy a comrade."  
  
I lifted my face to meet his, and I fear my confusion must have been very evident, "Shirley? The others? Do you mean....do you mean that they are all here? Now? But why, why didn't I know, why didn't I feel them here? Why..."  
  
"Time enough for questions after Shirley's said her piece," he quipped, sweeping me up into his arms, "And you were, I think, a little far gone. I had been standing there for well on an hour before I spoke Dearest One, and you never batted an eye."  
  
They were gathered in what had been in our time, and it seemed, still was, the meeting chamber of the defense tower, all five of them, gathered about that great table like a pack of generals planning war. All eyes turned to us as we entered, Zieg and I, and I felt that damnable flush creeping into my cheeks as Kanzas snickered behind his hand. Shirley silenced him with a look, she had always been good at that, the wisest, and kindest of us all. She sat directly to the left of Belzac, the great towering mountain of muscle and bone that had once been the earth Dragoon. To his right sat Syuveil, the Jade, who looked as if he had only recently been roused from his sleep, a smudge of ink across his right cheek. I had to smile, for how many times had I come across him in the same state? Some things never changed. To Syuveil's right sat Damia, the youngest of us all, who had long feigned childlike innocence, often making us laugh in times of great peril and darkness. Kanzas sat to Shirley's left, glowering as he always had. Zieg and I moved to take our respective seats and we all waited, patiently, for Shirley to speak.  
  
She was beautiful, but then, she always had been, so peaceful, even when the rest of us had fallen into chaos. It was little wonder Kanzas loved her, but Shirley had eyes only for Belzac. Like Zieg, her Dragoon armor was gone, and for the first time in all the years I had known her, she looked...weary. The pale rose shirt had billowing sleeves, and was cinched tight at the waist by a silver sash. To this she wore white breeches, as my Zieg did, but her boots were pale rose, just like the shirt. She waited a few more moments, as if composing herself, and then she began to speak.  
  
"I am certain that you all have felt the stirrings of the calling. You all have heard the whispered voices, and perhaps glimpsed shadowed people passing close to you. The very fact that we have all been called to this place once again should denote something. I believe I may know what," and here, she paused again, her gaze passing over each of us in turn. She gave a little nod, as if to herself, and then continued, "Seventy five years have passed since that tragic day in which each of us fell, since the end of the Dragon Campaign. Seventy five years since the last dragon walked the earth. For three quarters of a century we have lain in a strange sort of oblivious sleep, and yet now, now we have been reawoken. Can any of you guess why?"  
  
It was Damia who spoke, her eyes shimmering with a strange sort of gleaming hope, "The dragons," two words, two simple words but spoken with the weight of thousands. Kanzas snorted and shook his head, his arms folding over his chest. Even Syuveil and Belzac looked a little disbelieving.  
  
"The Dragons," Shirley continued with a nod, "Yes. They are stirring, reawakening as we have. Soa grows tired of Melbu Frahma's insitance of the Godlike worship of the Winglies, and Soa's will will be done, this you all know. So the dragons are being reborn, summoned forth to chose the weilders of the Spirits once again."  
  
"So they can die just like we did? Rush in unprepared and die?! Shirley, have you gone mad, we can't let this happen, we can't let seven more rush to their deaths! Look at us, we're shades, we're dead. Our lives were for nothing!" every gaze snapped towards Kanzas, who had risen so suddenly that his chair toppled over backwards with a crash. I felt a flash of the old anger come back, and it was I, not Shirley, who answered his outburst.  
  
"Open your eyes you fool! You say our lives were for nothing? Look around you. Who controls this ciy now? Humans! Who defends its walls? Humans! They are fighting back, the human race is trying to fight back, to defend itself, but they are no match for Wingly magic. They -need- the Dragoons, to lead them, to rally them to a single purpose. I have watched from these towers for months, lived with the stench of burning flesh as they send the souls of their dead to eternal rest. I see them die every day defending this city from the Winglies. Their numbers are few, and getting fewer, but think of this. Vellweb has not fallen yet," perhaps the same hope that glimmered in Damia's eyes, glimmered in my own, and as I looked out across my comrades, as Kanzas fell into sulking silence I saw a strange sort of new respect shining in the eyes of each of them, "What do we do Shirley?"  
  
"We must seek them out, those who are to be our successors, seek them out one by one and explain to them the cause. Some of them will likely need convincing, some of them will not believe, and still others will fear for what might happen. But they must be made to understand. They must see that their lives are needed in this, that they are needed, that all of human kind rests upon their shoulders, ready to rally behind them at a word. And we must make it clear to them that we are here at their call, to aid them should they need it. We cannot help them over much, but we can offer counsel, and that....that is what we must do."  
  
The seven of us fell into silence them, gazing at on another across the table, the weight of Shirley's words settling fully upon our shoulders. Could we do what she was suggesting? Could the would be Dragoons be located? And if they were, it seemed none of us possessed the Dragoon spirits any longer, how then, would these unlucky seven be made to believe. But a thought occured to me. If the dragons were being reborn, did that mean that the spirits were being recreated? 


	2. Wings of Shadows

Author's Note: Look, this misguided fiction has lived to chapter two. Amazing isn't it? I should warn you all to be prepared, for there are a few scattered surprises throughout this fiction.  
  
Chapter Two: Wings of Shadows  
  
Leaving Vellweb had taken more of an effort than I had counted on. It was as if I had been leaving the safest place I would ever encounter, and this sense of heavy forboding fell across my shoulders. I had defended Shirley's wishes against Kanzas...but I felt myself beginning to doubt whether or not this quest was folly. Could I bring myself to so readily commit another to die as I had? Doubt raged in my mind, and darkened my spirit even more.  
  
Suppose that we could not find these chosen seven, what then? It had been difficult enough, as I remembered, for us to find one another in the beginning, and then we had had the Dragoon Spirits to aid us. In this, we had nothing to go by except the strange calling, the pull, and gut instinct. Anger raged through me as I wandered, surveying the damage that had been done to the world. The Winglies lived like gods in their floating cities, while humans were cast to the ground like trash to suffer and die.  
  
I had scarcly traveled more than a few miles outside Vellweb when the wave of pain hit me, when the voice cried out in my mind. I froze as a wave of images washed over my mind. The mine was one I recognized all too well, unchanged even in the years that I had been dead. The slaves ranged from as young as ten or eleven to seventy or so. My heart cried out for them, for all that they had been made to suffer. Another wave of pain, worse than the last, and I heard that voice again.  
  
It was strong, haughty, filled with a sense of spirit that reminded me of my own, it startled me at how clearly I heard her, how clearly I felt, and how clearly I saw her. She was filthy, as most of the slaves were, a small and delicate looking thing with a lithe body, but a battered body. Her eyes were dark blue, very nearly black, and a fresh cut across her right cheek caused blood to make little tracks in the dirt that stained her skin. The dispute had started, it seemed, over a Wingly whipping one of the older slaves, a poor hunched woman who had collapsed under the weight of her work. As the Wingly had raised the whip, the younger woman had broken away from where she had been working and thrown herself in front of it. I had flinched myself the first time that cruel whip had bitten into the flesh of her back, and she had cried out, but it was a cry of rage, and not of pain.  
  
The lashes had come then, falling hard and fast against her straight back, biting deep, drawing blood in thick rivlets, so that it stained the coarse brown tunic. But she never flinched. One hand curled into a fist so tightly that the nails bit into the flesh of her palm, blood welled up around the crescent cuts and dripped to the ground. And then...then she surprised me, for as the Wingly overseerer raised the whip for one last good lash, she spun, letting the end of the cruel thing wrap firmly around her hand. The dark blue eyes glittered dangerously, and she jerked forward on it hard, pulled the man off his feet and onto his face in the dirt. Then, she jerked again, yanking the handle of the whip out of his hand, pulling it into her own.  
  
"Let's see how you like feeling the bite of the whip!" she yelled, rage burning in her eyes. The cruel thing rose and fell ten times over before his screams brought more of the Winglies over. The man's back was just as torn and bloodied as her own, and while he cursed and whimpered she stood stead fast, even as the others brought her to the ground with their own whips and their fists. They might have killed her, except for the appearance of another at that moment, obviously a noble, judging from his garb.  
  
"Enough!" his voice was a deep baritone, cold, and demanding at the same time. Something had to be done, I had to...no, there was nothing I could do, for while I was indeed witnessing the scene, I could not interfere for I was miles away. He swept in, past the tormentors and stooped down and scooped the battered woman up into his arms, "You were informed, all of you, that no harm was to come to this one, because a wealthy noble had special interest in her as a child. He shall be most displeased."  
  
And with that, he was gone, stalking out of the mining camp with the bleeding woman held closely to him, and then, all went black to my eyes.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
(Please note that here POV changes to that of Zamora, the slave woman.)  
  
Pain raced through my body, but it was a pain I struggled to ignore. I was confused, and who wouldn't be? I had thought that they would kill me for daring to attack one of their own...and yet, this one had saved my life. I found myself wondering why, and wondering even more where he was taking me. But the pain...dear God, the pain was intense. I had been whipped before, but nothing, nothing compared to this. I was beginning to wonder if my back even had anymore flesh to it anymore, and things were blurring around the edges, my eyelids felt heavy...I am still uncertain, exactly, of where I was taken, for things were very much a blur. The next thing I recall clearly, after being taken from that mining camp, was of being placed carefully upon a table, on my stomach, and of something very cold moving across my back.  
  
Before I could protest, not that I was of a mind to anyway, the coarse brown tunic that had been my only posession for so many years was cut away, baring my torn and bloodied back for all to see. I heard someone suck in a sharp breath at the sight of the new wounds criss crossed over old scars. Someone murmured something about barbarians, and then soothing hands smoothed across the inflamed cuts with a cooling salve. Then, gentle hands were helping me sit and I found myself looking into the faces of a concerned group of Winglies.  
  
"Do you think you can stand?" asked one, busying herself with putting the many jars of salves away. I nodded in response, still trying to blink the disorientedness away.  
  
A cool hand brushed across my brow, and I heard a familiar voice, the one that had stopped the others from killing me, "Zika and Tora will be taking you to the bath, to get you cleaned up and see to your wounds more properly, but before I send you with them, can you tell us your name?"  
  
My cracked lips parted, and I was ashamed at how cowed my voice sounded to my ears, "Zamora,"but they neither laughed nor taunted my weakness. Instead, I was helped to my feet by the two women and led carefully towards a side room where a steaming bath awaited me. 


	3. Soul of Shadows

Author's Note: Chapter Three. Dear God, I can't believe this thing has lived this long. In any case, i'm issuing fair warning. This chapter deals exclusively with Zamora, and there is some desriptive nudity, so if you are offended, cease to read NOW.  
  
Chapter Three: Soul in Shadows  
  
I could hardly believe the lavishness of the bath. The tug was easily twice as long as I was tall, and fully that length again in width. The floor was marble tiled, with huge spiraling columns. Everything was so...so clean, so comforting in that it was shades of white, pale blue, and violets. And the scents...oils and soaps of every scent imaginable, I could hardly believe that this was all for my benefit, for I was merely a slave, nothing else than that. Pain still flashed through my body at uneven intervals, bringing a moan unbidden to my lips. The two Wingly women were very understanding of this, more than I could have hoped. The tunic, though cut open at the back, I held clutched to my chest, though it pained me greatly to move my arms that much.  
  
I wondered, mutely, if I had been brought here to be a hand maiden for one of these very same women, imagine my complete surprise when my tattered tunic was stripped away from me, though very gently, the rest of my tattered clothes followed suit just moments before they tipped me backwards into the steaming bath. My body screamed in pain as the hot water struck open wounds, and I could not suppress the hiss of pain. But they were gentle, these Wingly women, much to my surprise.  
  
"How horrible. Such pain you must have suffered," murmured the youngest, passing a soft cloth along my back. Shivers rippled across my skin, and my head was ever bowed low, for I refused to meet their gaze, feeling suddenly cowed in the presence of such kindness.  
  
They carried out their conversation as if I didn't exist, their words soft, barely above a whisper, and seeming to be in awe of my state of health, "I fear it is like this for nearly all of the human slaves Tika. They are so poorly treated. Many of them die from this mistreatment, or worse, live long lives under harsh masters and suffer the pain of a thousand lifetimes. She was lucky, very lucky. They would have beaten her to death of Morin had not intervened."  
  
I listened to their words in silence, the soft scents of the bath and the warm water beginning to lull me into sleep. Though I was not aware of it at the time, as their slender hands washed the dirt and grime from my body, they were also working carefully to heal my hurts.  
  
I was awoken, some time later, by gentle hands shaking my shoulders, and a soft voice soothing across my ears, "Miss Zamora...we've finished now, if you would like to step out of the bath now, Tora has some fresh clothes for you, and our brother would like to speak with you."  
  
It was very reluctantly that I stirred myself, rising slowly from the warm water. I was surprised to find that the aches and pains of my bruises and wounds had faded, that I felt more refreshed, more rested than I had in years. And all this from a simple bath. My eyes widened as I saw the luxerious clothes that had been brought for me, nothing truly spectacular, but the materials...never before had I had anything so rich to wear.  
  
I had expected for them to hand me a towel and leave me to it, I was to be greatly surprised, for it was the opposite. The pair took great care in assuring that all of my wounds were truthfully healed, and in assuring themselves that all traces of the bath water had been successfully banished from my skin. I felt embarassed, that so much attention should be wasted on me, a slave, and I fear I grew suspicious, wondering what they were planning for me, and who this brother of theirs was. I was to find out shortly, but not before the pair of platinum haired sisters had dressed me properly.  
  
The tunic was blue silk, and felt unbelievably smooth against my skin, and it ws embroidered with silver symbols, the breeches were looser than most, but still hugged my well toned legs nicely, silver to match the emroidered patterns and upon my feet, they placed blue silk slippers. It was a strange feeling, to find myself being looked after as if I were a noble or even a Wingly, instead of just a human slave. They brought a mirror before me, and I found myself awestruck as Zika pulled a silver plaited brush through my hair .  
  
The woman that gazed back at me was not one that I had known. Aside from the raven streaks through my platinum hair, and the fact that my eyes were blue instead of crimson, I could have very well have stood beside them as a Wingly! The thought startled me, and took me by even greater surprise when Zika carefully plaited my hair, and Tora placed a delicate necklace about my throat.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
(Author's Note: POV changes now from Zam's to a male who's name will remain hidden for purposes of the story.)  
  
I paced, for what else could I do? I had sent to have her brought to my quarters on the grounds that I wished a proper slave for my younger sisters. Being of one of the nobler families, my reasoning was believed immediately, and it was whispered, I suppose, that I wanted her as a bed slave as well. Let them talk. The fact of the matter was Zamora belonged in my house. She was the daughter of my mother's hand maiden, and the daughter of one of my own guards. Both had been executed when Zamora had been born, and despite my mother's wishes, my father had set her loose in the slave system. It had taken me years to find her again, tragicly, Mother would never see the child she had helped bring into this world. Still, I had found her, and I had brought her home. I still had no idea what I would do with her, but she would be safe here, and she would remain in my home.  
  
It was strange, I had felt this odd sort of pull, as if it were imperative that I find her and have her brought to me. Instead of that pull I felt only nervousness, what would I say, how would she react? Would the years of hard slavery have cowed her, would she be as placating as every other slave I had ever purchased off the block? Or had her spirit endured? Would she be something truly worthy of admiration? A knock at the door, I called out in response, bidding them to enter, and turned, to take in the being that had haunted my dreams for so long....  
  
She took away my breath. Though not of noble blood surely, she held herself as if she was. Her back was stright, her chin held up, as if she would look down her nose at me for whatever reason. Zika had done wonders with her, the raven and platinum locks gleamed in the artifical light, like so much precious metal. Her skin was pale, and unmarred by the bruises and scars I had been expecting, truly, my sisters had done a magnificent job with her.  
  
I crossed the room to great her, to take her hands in my own, for in that instant I knew why it had seemed so important that I find her. In that instant I knew that we were meant to be together, that ours would be the sort of love that spanned the gaps of time, that would be remembered always. Yes, everything fell into place then.  
  
"Zamora, welcome home," I could see the fear that flashed in her eyes, the confusion. She was wary, this I could see, even a blind man could have seen it, but the instant my hands closed around hers that sense of familiarity seemed to flare through both of us, and it was to my surprise that she stepped into my arms to rest her head against my shoulder.  
  
"Home," the word was whispered softly. My eyes closed as my arms closed about her. I felt as if I could spend the rest of my life just like that, standing there with her always. It was as if the weight of centuries of unrest had been lifted from my shoulders.  
  
"Home," I answered just as softly, for home she truly was. 


End file.
